


reading between the lines

by lettersfromnowhere



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: F/M, I have no idea what I’m writing, Rom-Com AU, This kind of derailed wildly after ch 2 and I enjoy that, because why not, broke nerdy author!Peter and publishing agent!Gamora, ceaseless Ingmar Applekvist cameos, out of place references to other MCU franchises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-01-31 11:46:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18590623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromnowhere/pseuds/lettersfromnowhere
Summary: It's a bit of a stretch, but one could argue that Guardians of the Galaxy is somewhat of a rom-com in space. So...what if Guardians of the Galaxy was actually a rom-com?You know the story: two people are going about their lives in peace, single as can be, when boy meets girl. Of course, boy and girl must hate each other, because the plot would suffer if they did not. Then some inconvenience forces them to - gasp - interact! And they realize that everything isn't too awful, but of course, they must never admit it, because then there would be no movie. Then it all ends, cue the crying, everyone goes their separate ways but you know they're endgame (pun not intended) because there are still forty minutes left in this confounded film. Then there is the chase, and the confession, and the happy ending.As glamorous publishing executive Gamora and struggling author Peter are about to discover, this plot is a whole lot more entertaining when you're not the one living in it...





	1. The Set-Up

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm getting myself into here. But...have at it. I feel like this fandom could always use more fluff. And...rom-coms. 
> 
> Also, the plot structure is based off of this: https://www.favrify.com/every-romantic-comedy-ever/. Each chapter will be one plot point. Formulaic and incredibly easy to write, because I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO WRITE ANYTHING ORIGINAL! But it's still going to be fun. I can feel it. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the first step: The Set-Up. From the article: "Introduce the main characters, but don’t have the 2 leads meet for the first 10-15 minutes of the film. Show how their lives are worlds apart and include a few hilarious comedy set pieces (probably involving the lead’s friends) to set the tone for the movie."

"Didn't you say that publisher you've finally gotten to give your book a look-see is expecting the manuscript by Friday?" Rocket asked, not moving his eyes from the TV screen. "You might wanna-" 

" _Absolutely_  not," Peter replied, also not averting his catatonic stare from the screen. "We're about to beat this game. We finish this and then maybe I'll think about revising." 

Rocket paused the game, eliciting an outraged mutter from Peter. "Dude!" 

"Your manuscript. Is due. In  _two days._ You know how much I hate being the responsible one, but we're both banking on this thing getting published, Quill." 

"Eh." Peter gestured dismissively. "It'll work out." 

"You haven't paid rent in six months!" 

"So? You have a job." 

"Working on a phD isn't a job, and Burger King might as well not be one," Rocket said. "Rent for this month was due two days ago, and I didn't-" 

A knock at the door cut him off. 

"Pay it," Rocket muttered. "You get this one." 

Peter sighed but got up to open the door. "Yeah?" he asked, his face falling as it swung open to reveal a familiar blank-faced woman in a pencil skirt with a pinched expression. Rocket groaned audibly, and she shot him a sharp look. Genevieve Blythe was an exacting landlady; both knew exactly why she'd come.

"Sir, I'd prefer that you properly clothe yourself before we discuss the problem at hand," Genevieve told him, glancing up and down at Peter's disheveled appearance. "I don't make a practice of speaking to tenants who refuse to wear pants." 

"Oh, right. Sorry. I'll go put some sweats on...riiight away." He shuffled off, more inconvenienced than embarrassed. "Rocket, can you ask Ms. Blythe what she needs while I'm gone?"

Rocket peeled himself off of the couch to meet Ms. Blythe, internally thankful (not that he'd ever admit it) that he'd decided, against his better judgement, to wear jeans that day. "Need anything?" he asked nonchalantly, trying to play innocent. 

"Sir, you know exactly why I'm here." Ms. Blythe pressed her lips into an even thinner line."Nah," Rocket deflected. "That shade of puce suits your complexion just  _brilliantly,_ Genny." 

" _Sir."_

"Right."  _Okay, plan B._ "I'm sure you're expecting an explanation of why we didn't pay our rent." 

"Mm- _hm."_ Ms. Blythe nodded tightly. "Care to explain?" 

"Well, ya see..." 

Peter wandered back into the room and, witnessing his friend's struggle, jumped in. "You see, my aunt Joanie just had a hip replacement - it was a slip-and-fall, kind of a sudden thing -  and I'm her only family except her two slacker kids who couldn't be bothered. So of course I had to go down and help her get some paperwork sorted out, but she lives all the way out in Eugene - that's in Oregon, by the way - and I spent my last paycheck on the airfare." Rocket sent him a glare that could either have meant  _where are you getting this?_ or  _hey, give me an alibi too!_  Peter went with the former. "And Rocket here," he explained, gesturing, "had to chip in, too. Then we needed groceries, so we spent a bunch of money on that, and normally that wouldn't have been a problem, except that-" 

"Peter's ticket took up most of our monthly budget." Rocket mentally patted himself on the back for having chosen an author as his roommate - he was broke, but at least he could always spin a convincing yarn when they needed an excuse for their questionable spending habits. 

"You've been in town all week, Peter," Ms. Blythe accused. 

"Oh, I didn't stay for long," Peter said. "I was out on Monday - you know that. That's when I went to see her. Got back that night." 

"Hm." Ms. Blythe still wasn't convinced. "And why could her children not have done it, given your...need to save money?" 

"Oh, they're just  _awful._ " Peter almost grinned, enjoying the story far too much. Maybe he'd have to include an Aunt Joanie and her two awful children in a future novel. "The older one, Kyler, just got his business degree, and some poor, unsuspecting Fortune 500 company had the misfortune to hire him, so now he think's he's better than everyone. He was never going to come anywhere near his injured old mother and her medical paperwork, so that left me or his sister, Kylie. Kylie's pretty terrible, herself. She's a sophomore at Oregon State majoring in oceanography, which is ironic, seeing as she hates science, which I should know because I had to help her with her chemistry homework every time I visited them in high school. She'd rather be taking selfies than anything else, and-" 

"All right, that will be all." Ms. Blythe glared at them pointedly. "You have one week." 

She closed the door so forcefully that it shuddered. The two high-fived. 

"Never say that a creative writing degree won't get you anywhere in life," Peter crowed. "Now, we were just about to beat Level 8..."

—————————————————————————

"Gamora, we can't be taking on this many young adult contemporaries," Nebula insisted. "We have to branch out. The YA market is so crowded that-"

"A crowded market means more authors means more competition means better-quality work," Gamora countered, sipping her coffee. "We're picking up promising new authors like seagulls pick up hapless beachgoers' lunches."

"Nice analogy, but that isn't how it works." Nebula set down her latte for emphasis. "The board is advising us to try to publish more sci-fi. It's been picking up steam, what with the action blockbusters people are so addicted to. I think we should scout for more of that kind of thing, not young adult romance." 

"Perhaps," Gamora sighed. "It's never been our company's thing." 

"There's more to Titan Publications than our teen label, Gamora." 

"Okay, fine, if you're going to be so insistent. If you want me picking up more sci-fi, find me an author-" 

"Already have." Nebula pulled an elegantly color-coded spreadsheet from her bag. "I've got five new authors who have sci-fi and fantasy manuscripts that I've read and have potential for publishing. You meet with one every day this week." She smiled primly, looking rather devious even so. "Happy reading, Madame President." 

"I rue the day I hired such an effective assistant," Gamora called after her as Nebula got up to leave. As if on cue, her phone buzzed - an unknown number.  _Strange._ "Hello?" she asked. 

"Is this the head of Titan Publications?" a gravely and rather aggressive voice on the other end asked. 

"Yes," Gamora said coolly, trying not to sound like she felt slightly disturbed (she did). "Who is this?" 

"My name is Ingmar Applekvist," the voice announced. "Author of 'The Scandalous Life and Times of the Papaya.' Remember 'The Scandalous Life and Times of the Papaya'?" 

"How could I forget?" Gamora pinched the bridge of her nose. Said book - a nonfiction chronicle of the history of a fruit she'd never tried and didn't care to after reading Mr. Applekvist's account - had been published to little success a year ago. Ingmar hadn't stopped calling, insisting that his "brilliant" book deserved a more thorough advertising campaign, since it had been published. "If this is about advertising-" 

"We need to be putting this book on the map!" Ingmar thundered. "It's brilliant! Brilliant, I tell you! And what are you doing to-" 

Gamora hung up unceremoniously and sighed. 

She doubted that whatever sci-fi-writing nerds Nebula had found and dragged in for meetings could possibly be worse than Ingmar Applekvist, but she wasn't eager to find out. 


	2. Chapter 2: The First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on https://www.favrify.com/every-romantic-comedy-ever/, as usual. 
> 
> Part 2: The First Meeting. "Now we know who everyone is, have the two lead characters meet and for whatever reason not get along."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a little research on how publishing works. Essentially, an author will send a book proposal to the publishing company (that would have been how Nebula, who is an agent, found the five sci-fi authors mentioned in the last chapter). If the agent liked them, they'd pass them along to the editor (Gamora, in this case), who would meet with each author. I altered this process a bit to meet the rom-com formula - because when have rom-coms EVER been accurate portrayals of ANYTHING? :p Usually, the book isn't written until the publisher makes an author, but I decided that Peter had already written his novel (it was a pet project he'd been working at for years) before he proposed it. That's why it differs.

"I don't know where you dug up some of these people," Gamora sighed, her stilettos clacking authoritatively against the tiled floor ( _they project power,_ she'd always said). 

"What? They're good." Nebula shrugged - a rather unprofessional gesture, but she clearly didn't mind. 

"Well, I know I've got that meeting with the Quill guy today, which is fine. I liked his, but don't think I'm going to need a meeting with the rest of them," Gamora replied. "Most of them weren't sellable-" 

"What about the one by that scientist couple - the Simmons-Fitzes, I think it was?" Nebula asked. "I thought it had a lot of promise." 

"The robot love story? Sweet, but inaccessible." Gamora sipped her coffee. "It's obvious it was written by phDs. No average reader would understand half of the scientific jargon they used." 

"Can't argue with that." Nebula shrugged again. "But what about that that one about the intelligence agency in space?" 

"Who was that by? Can't remember," Gamora deflected, trying not to make her distaste too obvious. 

"Yeah, I think his name was Loki. Great story, if you can get past the Norse connection after, you know...the Ingmar nightmare." Nebula paused to glare at some interns who'd lingered too long by the coffee station. 

"If I'm remembering it correctly, that one had so many plot twists that I couldn't follow it." Gamora threw open a heavy, soundproof meeting room door. "That was the one where the protagonist changed sides eight thousand times, right?" 

"It was brilliantly plotted!" Nebula protested. "Plus, he'll take less money for it because he's not starving. Rich father." 

"Nebula, no." 

"What about that ex-con who wrote about the man who talks to moths?" 

" _NEBULA, NO!"_

"Fine," Nebula huffed. "Quill's waiting for you. So I'll leave you alone...for now."

"Yup, I'm here," a voice called from the other end of a conference table far too long for two. "First and foremost, I want to thank you for giving me the chance to pitch my book to you." 

"Of course," Gamora said cordially, appraising the author's appearance. He wore faded jeans and a shirt depicting Pac-Man wielding a lightsaber.  _Exactly what I would've expected,_ she thought. "I must say, Mr. Quill, I've received five sci-fi manuscripts in the past week, and yours was far and away the most promising." 

"I heard you talking to Nebula about the moth story," Peter replied. "I don't know what you're talking about. It sounds amazing." 

"Well, it wasn't." Gamora took a seat, setting down a few sheets of paper. "But yours, on the other hand, had great potential. What inspired you to write it?" 

"Well, it's about a team of space outlaws planning a gem heist, right?" Gamora nodded receptively - her weakness for the intricate plotting, high stakes, and adrenaline rush of heist movies had made it impossible for her to ignore it. "It's not just about the heist, though. One of the themes I was going for is how a team of people brought together by chance or necessity can become a family. I've never really had a lot of family, so I guess...I like the idea of found family. And I've always been really interested in space. There's so much potential for worldbuilding because we know nothing about it." 

"I'm beginning to see that, reading these manuscripts," Gamora said. "I like the vulnerability in your use of the found family theme." 

"Yeah, it means a lot to me. My favorite quote about writing is from this letter that F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote to this unpublished author about-" 

"You've got to sell your heart!" Gamora blurted out, nearly jumping from her seat in excitement. "I love that quote, too. It's the piece of advice I give to every new author I work with and the fact that you actually follow that  _totally_ explains why I like your writing so much and that's just so-" her face was flushed with excitement - "funny that we both think that way, and..." 

"Wow. Never thought you'd warm up to me that fast," Peter remarked, not entirely unflushed himself. "You don't seem like the type who wants to spend her life talking to geeks who write sci-fi." 

Gamora's face fell. "That is a completely inaccurate generalization, Mr. Quill." 

"Nah, I've read up on your label. You don't really publish sci-fi, so I'm just thrilled that your agent got you to take a chance on me. So...are you going to do that? Because I haven't paid rent in six months." 

"Hm. How irresponsible." 

"It's not my fault that writing doesn't pay!" Peter protested. "Plus, I have a roommate who was supposed to do it!" 

"You're incredibly lucky that your writing is so good, Mr. Quill," Gamora replied coolly, "because your personality is not as winning as it at first appears to be." 

"Oh, so you thought I had a winning personality to begin with?" A rakish smile spread across Peter's face. "Surprising, considering how uptight you seem to be." 

"I am entirely in control of whether your book is published, Quill!" Gamora snapped, indignant at the man's disrespect. "If I were you, I would be far more professional than you have currently shown yourself to be." 

"Well, if you ever thought I had a winning personality-" 

"It was a slip of the tongue." 

"Nah." Peter leaned back against the plush office chair, spinning it back and forth. "Now, are you going to give me an offer?" 

"If your book wasn't such a sure moneymaker, I would absolutely not," Gamora told him, "but yes." She slid him a contract and his eyebrows rose several inches. 

"That's a number," Peter muttered. "Count me in!" 

"Mr. Quill, did you even read it?" 

"I read the important part," Peter replied, pulling a pen seemingly from midair. "Where do I sign?"

Sighing, Gamora pointed out the signature line. "You have no idea what you're getting into, Mr. Quill, but...welcome to Titan Publications." 

Peter looked up from the paper, his face lit up in spite of itself. "Thank you. You have no idea how much of a lifesaver this deal is." 

"Of...course," Gamora said stiffly, wondering how he could vacillate between humble appreciation and scathing sarcasm so quickly. "I'll call you soon to schedule another meeting about revisions." 

"'Course. And, uh..." Peter stared at the table almost bashfully. "Call me Peter, please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was literally an excuse for me to throw in cameos for other MCU characters. (Some are from Agents of Shield, because I love AOS, but still.) Each novel reflects the story and personality of the character who wrote it. The other books Nebula referred to Gamora were: 
> 
> 1\. "Silicon" by Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons: two androids fall in love in a futuristic Silicon Valley and must figure out how to "upgrade" themselves in order to escape persecution of their kind and ensure their chance at happiness. Full of scientific jargon no one but scientists could have written. (Also my excuse to write FitzSimmons into this because I LOVE AGENTS OF SHIELD, GUYS and they're another of my OTPs.)
> 
> 2\. "The Neptune Gambit" by Loki Laufeyson: a spy of dubious origin navigates interplanetary politics and double-crosses everyone who will employ him in an attempt to secure his own ambitions. Gamora rejected it on the grounds of "too many plot twists and betrayals," claiming that "nothing about it makes sense."
> 
> 3\. "Untitled" by Scott Lang (he hasn't come up with a title yet): a man discovers he can speak to moths and uses this new ability to combat injustice in the prison system. Ridiculously far-fetched even for sci-fi; Gamora did not appreciate its overt goofiness even as it tried to be serious. 
> 
> 4\. "Highly Classified Information and Other Things that Regularly Show Up in My Backyard" by Carol Danvers: a young woman who moonlights as a pilot while working towards a career in aerospace engineering is thrown for a loop when aliens show up at the airfield where she spends most of her time, claiming to have escaped from Area 51 and insisting she help them get back home. Gamora described it as "well-done but too quirky." 
> 
> Peter's novel is as described, and as you can see, I had way too much fun coming up with these.


	3. Part 3: Introduce a contrived plot to force them to spend time with each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Per Favrify: "Part 3. Introduce a contrived plot to force them to spend time with each other. This could take the form of: –
> 
> a) A bet (e.g. the guy is initially dating the cookie girl to win a bet with his friend)  
> b) Some sort of arrangement (e.g. they have won money and have to pretend to be together)  
> c) Something to do with their careers (e.g. the guy works for the council and is trying to close down the girl’s book store)  
> Comedy ensues."
> 
> Or, the good old lunch meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I normally do daily updates but this one was taking me a hot minute to write. I had no idea where to go with it for a while, hence...this. I hope you enjoy anyways.

Peter reclined against the obscenely tiny wrought-iron table, exhausted. The sun was baking (he hadn't been outside in so long that his heat tolerance had nearly died), his editor would not cease to repeat herself, the glorious lobster mac-and-cheese was gone (but, on the bright side, free - his employers had paid), and the two had made no headway. His only consolation, albeit a small one, was that Gamora looked as done with the situation as he did.

"I've already told you," Gamora sighed for what felt like the eighth time that hour, "that I think the key is to expand on the romance rather than trying to add in another convoluted subplot." 

"But it's not  _about_ that!" Peter protested. "The sisters' bond is just as vital to the story as Dustin and Venetia's. If I took it out, it would-" 

"Be far more pedestrian and therefore more sellable," Gamora said, primly spearing a bite of some insanely fussy-looking salad that made Peter, a prolific lover of boxed macaroni and cheese (among other things), want to scream. "Our company doesn't usually publish niche fiction, and most of the books that we do publish are romances, so it would fall in line with what people expect." 

"As someone who's bought a crap-ton of books in his time, I don't think anyone who wants to buy a book actually considers that, so your 'non-sellable' point doesn't stand," Peter countered. Gamora's eyebrows inched upwards.  _Decent point, Quill._ "Sure, Dustin and Venetia's romantic arc is necessary, but if I made that the focus of the story, the book would be worse for it." 

"Well, it might make the story more palatable to readers who wouldn't ordinarily read that kind of book," Gamora said. "And you can't argue that  _that_ would lead to better sales." 

"But it undermines the entire  _purpose_ of the book!" Peter protested, rather indignant. "I'm writing sci-fi from the perspective of a guy whose entire life has been sci-fi, for other people whose entire lives have  _also_ been sci-fi, and frankly I don't care how many people don't want to read it because of that. I only care about the ones who do, and I'm writing for them." 

"That's very noble," Gamora replied with surprising sincerity, "but entirely impractical. We want to make a profit, remember?" 

"See, that's where we're different," Peter told her, gesticulating emphatically with his fork. " _You_ want to make a profit.  _I_ want to make  _art."_

"Art can mean many things. It isn't invalid just because it's created for the masses rather than a small group of enthusiasts." 

"Well, yeah. But...I haven't wasted five years of my life trying to make it as an author, with, uh-" Peter scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish -"limited success, just so I could finally make it and have to lose my artistic vision."

"Artistic vision." Gamora pursed her lips. "Sounds like something only a starving artist would say." 

"Sure. Although I'm not starving today," Peter shot back almost giddily, "because I got a publishing company to buy me the most glorious bowl of carbs I've ever tasted."

Gamora bit her lip, feeling an odd urge to smile at Peter's utter ridiculousness. "Well. If you want to be able to feed yourself in the future, I'd recommend making these changes."

As if on cue, a waitress passed by, depositing a check on their table with a decidedly dirty glare. "We have limited table space," she told them, visibly irritated. "Kindly vacate your table." She began to walk away but turned back as Gamora called after her. 

"We paid for this reservation, uh..." she read the waitress' nametag - "Ayesha. And we have a right to remain here so long as we're using your services." Peter helpfully gestured at her still-half-full bowl of the ridiculous fancy salad; as if on cue, her phone began to ring. "So kindly vacate  _our_ table,  _please._  Wait, hold on. I need to get this. Hello?" her face fell as she picked up the call and recognized the voice on the other end. "Ingmar, I've already told you that we're  _not_ paying for you to do a book tour, and this is a  _really horrible time,_ so please call me back. Or don't! That would also be wonderful!" she hung up. "Now, what did you need?" 

"You've been here for three hours!" Ayesha nearly shouted. "You need to leave or I'm gonna get my manager!"

"Isn't it usually the customer who does that?" Peter mumbled under his breath. Ayesha, who'd clearly heard, glared at him; he deflected. "Do you like sci-fi?" he asked, seizing on the first conversation topic that came into his head.  _Idiot,_ he admonished himself.  _Of all the things to bring up to a random, hostile waitress, why_ that?

"I hate it," she said venomously. "And by the way, the manager is my dad." 

"Well, I'm sure your father will be perfectly understanding once we explain to him that we are _in a lunch meeting_ ," Gamora snapped. "And that his daughter has been so indecorous. Come on, Peter. We're leaving." 

"Wait, I thought we were going to hold our-okay, nope." Gamora grabbed his arm and dragged him from the chair; he was only too happy to comply. "The lobster mac is great!" he called back to the still-fuming Ayesha as they left. 

"Well, I think we've gotten through my agenda," Gamora said once they were safely out of range of Ayesha's eye-daggers. She pulled up a checklist on her phone and scanned through it. "More accessible, flesh out romantic plot, less references to other franchises...yeah, that's about it. Did you drive here?" 

"Does it look like I have a car?" Peter asked, incredulous. "I can barely afford a thing of milk-" 

"Carton. The word you're looking for is carton." 

"Okay, right, fine. I can barely afford a  _carton_ of milk at the grocery store. Do you really think I could afford a car?" 

"Well, I guess he'll have to make a second stop, then." She gestured to a deathtrap of a blue Honda (by Peter's estimation, if it were a human, its age would probably have it in college) that had just pulled up. "I called an Uber. He can probably get you to the nearest bus station or something."   
  
Ducking to avoid the inevitable concussion that would result from their hitting the car's roof on the way in, they climbed rather ungracefully into the backseat. The driver took one look at them and his expression turned sour. 

"Oh, great. A lunch date." By some improbability, he sounded even more disgusted than he looked. "You better not make out in my car." 

"Um..." Gamora, for once, was at a loss for words. 

"Dude. It was a  _business meeting_. Chill." Peter glanced over at her with an  _I've-got-this_ expression, trying not to laugh as her face turned increasingly red. "We're not even  _close_ to a couple. Nah. We're, like...an anti-couple. We're, like, what would happen if two people got too close to a black hole, and they didn't die, but it sucked all of the couple potential out of them.  _That's_ how much of couple we  _aren't."_ He crossed his arms, trying to look more confident than his flustered expression would indicate. "So don't you worry. We're going to be  _model_ customers." 

"Uh...okay, then," the driver replied, confused but not entirely displeased. "Where to?" 

It took every ounce of Gamora's willpower not to scream 'anywhere but here!' at the top of her lungs, but she didn't. 

Perhaps she had lowered her standards beyond a reasonable level and that was why she didn't hate Peter Quill as much as she thought she should; but - she was loath to admit - maybe she didn't mind this. Maybe because it wasn't always so certain that this ridiculous man wasn't ridiculous in a surprisingly good way.


	4. Part 4: the Comedy Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4 - The Comedy Bit: "Have about 30 minutes of hilarious comedy set pieces, brought about by the contrived plot point introduced above. Have the two main characters hating each other for the first 20 minutes, but visibly softening in the final 10 (although not admitting it yet)."
> 
> Or: shenanigans, and Ingmar does as Ingmar is apt to do. This deviates a bit from the prompt because I don't have them hating each other for most of this - all the collective anger is foisted on Ingmar - but whatevs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my awesome friend @star-munches for the suggestion of including an Ingmar cameo in each chapter. That inspired me to write this, Ingmar's first appearance in the flesh...

"You want me to do a...what, book-con?"

Rocket poked his head out the door of his bedroom down the hall. "She wants you to do a  _what now?"_

"Sorry, hold on." Peter set down his phone. "She wants me to go promote my book at this literary festival in Atlanta. It'll make us bank, apparently." 

"Then I'm all for it." Rocket slammed the door, cueing Peter to resume his conversation. 

"Well, my roommate's in. What do I have to do?" 

"Peter, I never said this was going to 'make you bank,'" Gamora sighed fondly. 

"Yeah, I know, but it sounds cool, and Rocket would never have gone along with it if he didn't think I was making money off of it."

"Ah. Right. You don't really have to do much. Show up, talk about your book, answer questions. But there might be some, uh, unpleasant company..." 

* * *

 

The man was impossible to miss, even on the massive floor of the convention center. In his orange Hawaiian shirt, impeccably ironed linen pants, purple bucket hat, red Crocs, and a garish turquoise belt buckle (sans belt), Ingmar Applekvist made his presence immediately visible. He carried a box of books and waved overexcitedly as he saw his haggard editor and her confused new protégé approach.

"Miss Ga- _mor-_ ah!" Ingmar crowed, dropping the box of books unceremoniously in an attempt to join them. He didn't seem to notice that it landed squarely on his toe and continued, unhampered, towards them. 

"Hello, Ingmar," Gamora replied, immediately exhausted. "I see you've already begun to set up your booth." 

"I did," Ingmar said proudly, gesturing to the booth. He'd done it up in about eighteen colors of orange. Peter was mystified as to how it was even possible for the human eye to tell that many shades of any color apart. Gamora, despite knowing that she shouldn't expect a thing Ingmar did to make sense, was even  _more_ mystified as to why Ingmar had decided that every single surface in the place should be absolutely coated in glitter. 

"Uh...why the glitter?" she asked, not even attempting to convey approval. 

"Oh, that's the best part." Ingmar smiled deviously. "If anyone doesn't like my book, that's too bad, because it'll have glitter all over it, and they will  _never, ever, ever be able to get it out of their house."_ He laughed rather unnervingly. 

"That's...evil," Peter replied, nonplussed. He was beginning to see Gamora's point about 'unpleasant company.' "I'm going to go, uh, see if there are any other sci-fi authors around." 

"Oh, I know!" Ingmar called after him. "It's what makes it so good. I'm wreaking destruction upon my enemies!" 

"Well, then," Peter muttered, bumping into a tall, eerily-smiling young man in head-to-toe green. 

"I like the way he thinks," the man said. "You know him?" 

"He published a book with the same company that's publishing mine and he's been hounding our editor for a promotional event for years," Peter explained. "Kinda evil." 

"Ha. I like that even more. Especially because your company rejected my manuscript." He smirked; Peter felt a strange urge to run away. Mercifully, the man went off to consult with Ingmar, and he made his way around the convention center for a blessed hour until his phone rang - 

"Get back here," Gamora hissed through the phone. "If Ingmar accosts one more guest, we're going to be kicked out." 

* * *

 

"September 19th," Peter told the elderly woman inquiring about his book's release date for the third time in a row. "It's being released on September 19th." 

"Ah, thank you, dearie," she said. "I've always loved science fiction, you know. It takes so much creativity to write it well." She flashed him a dimpled smile and his heart couldn't help but melt a little. There was nothing more endearing to Peter than the knowledge that young children and the elderly loved his work - everything meant more at the beginning and the end of life, he thought. And they were the only ones, after all, who had enough imagination to take it in. 

"You know what, here." He fished a fresh advance copy of his novel from a box in the back. "We're supposed to save these advance copies for book reviewers, but I want you to have one. What's your name?

"Margaret, dearie," she told him. 

"Margaret. All right." He took one of the free Titan Publications pens lying around their book and opened its inside cover. "For Margaret," he muttered as he wrote. "Remember that it's never too late for adventure. Peter..." he scrawled his signature under the message..."Quill. My signature, for when I'm famous." He carefully closed the cover and handed Evelyn the book with a rakish smile. The look on her face when she took it in her hands was proof enough that whatever admonition he might later receive from Gamora would be worth it.

"You're too kind," she told him, the beginning of a lengthy string of compliments about his character that Peter barely heard. He was too busy glancing around for his editor; it may have been worthwhile, but he rather hoped she hadn't seen. 

No such luck.

Gamora stood a few feet away at Ingmar's booth, staring over at his intently. But instead of the stern disapproval Peter expected to see on her face, she was smiling softly. Almost...fondly.

He couldn't help the speed of his heartbeat when she shifted her gaze directly to him. 

* * *

 

It was nine in the evening before Peter had a chance to leave his booth. Some customers, like Evie, had been wonderful; others were irritating, like the mother who'd drilled him for ten straight minutes on the appropriateness of his novel for her six-year old-son. ( _Does t_ _his look like the kids' section to you?_ Peter had wanted to snap.) And there was, as always, the matter of Ingmar.

First there had been Ingmar's insistence on personally delivering a copy of  _The Scandalous Life and Times of the Papaya_ to every single booth in the convention center, leaving his station unmanned and every other author in attendance thoroughly annoyed for a good two hours. Then there had been his attempt to throw glitter at a customer whose "attitude" he'd disliked. And that was not to mention his obnoxious prattle every second he could get someone to listen to him.

"Yes, I really was inspired by that trip to Papua New Guinea," he was saying as Peter packed up his booth accessories and (very few, he noted proudly) remaining copies. "I'm really considering writing my second book about the mating behaviors of the various species of bird-of-paradise. Do you know what a lek is, Peter?" 

"A lek? Sounds like a verb. As in, 'I'm gonna lek you if you don't shut up about the lek.'" Peter was far too tired to pretend to be interested anymore. 

If Ingmar was insulted by that, he didn't show it. (Perhaps he'd somehow managed to twist that into a compliment; it wouldn't be beyond him.) "A lek is a communal space used by males of certain species of bird-of-paradise to display their merits in order to compete for mates," Ingmar told him. "I find the lek an especially fascinating adaptation. Imagine if human males had to-" 

"Peter, I can't tell you how many comments I got about you," Gamora cut him off, returning from a coffee run. "You made a good impression." 

"Glad to hear it." Peter suddenly felt the need to straighten his wrinkled t-shirt (this one displayed a bear next to a trash can eating a slice of pizza, captioned "Don't Feed the Bears"). "Hopefully this brings in some publicity." 

"Oh, it has. Pre-orders on Amazon are skyrocketing. Hopefully those reviewers we gave copies to will like it - that'll help too." 

Peter grinned. "Guess it didn't need that extra romance after all." 

"We'll see about that when the reviews start coming in," Gamora called over her shoulder, walking away. "Come on. It's about time we get home."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Ingmar piped up after an uncharacteristic silence. "Have I told you about my next book idea?" 

Gamora sighed. Her work was far from over. "No, and frankly-" 

"Maybe an email proposal would be better. We're all tired," Peter cut in. Gamora shot him a grateful look.  _I got you,_ he mouthed back. 

 _I got you._ He seemed to have been repeating that lately, and Gamora couldn't claim she hated it as much as she'd expected to. It was hard not to be grateful that someone, for once, wasn't asking her to do it alone. 

She distanced herself from the two, walking faster for privacy, and found herself dialing a number - Nebula's, one of the few she knew by heart. And, no matter what she told herself, she knew she wasn't going to be telling her about sales statistics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your viewing pleasure, I imagine that Ingmar would sound quite a bit like this: https://youtu.be/A2KCGQhVRTE?t=25
> 
> In my head, Ingmar is basically what would result if you combined Jeff Goldblum with the Bisque guy from that video. Because I have the dumbest sense of humor in the history of senses of humor.


	5. Part 5: the Romantic Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5: the Romantic Bit. Per the source material, "The ‘wacky’ situation that forced them to be together made them realize that, despite their differences (or him being an a-hole) they actually love each other after all. If he is an a-hole, then he’s probably a changed man by now. Have a romantic walk in the rain or snow at night, a first kiss, ten minutes or so of romance, then…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be fun.
> 
> (Or awful. It could also easily be awful.)

"You have an average Goodreads rating of 4.56, reviewers are raving, and-" 

"Great." Peter carelessly kicked his feet up on the table and leaned back. "So did I tell you about that-" 

"Peter." Gamora fixed him with a steely glare. "Would it kill you to take this seriously for _ten seconds_?" 

"Oh, there are plenty of things I take seriously," he replied, taking a too-glossy Granny Smith apple from a bowl on the table. "This tastes like wax." 

"That's because it  _is,_ Peter," Gamora sighed. "They're decorative." 

"Oh. That would explain it." Seemingly undeterred, he kept chewing the bite of wax apple. "So, people are liking it?" 

"Definitely. We haven't had an author debut this strong in years." Gamora's cheeks flushed almost imperceptibly, but it didn't escape Peter's notice. "I have to admit I'm impressed." 

" _I_ _mpressed?_ Color me shocked." 

"Really, Peter," Gamora sighed. "You grow on me for three seconds and then you have to go and-" 

"I'm growing on you?" Peter's enthusiasm was almost puppylike, in stark contrast to his priorly caustic sarcasm. 

"Wasn't it obvious?" Gamora said, trying to sound nonchalant as she strategically turned to grab a stack of papers, hiding her reddened face. "I thought the fact that I no longer talk to you like Ingmar was proof enough of that." 

"It doesn't take much to make you hate me less than you hate Ingmar." Peter shrugged, still wearing a face-splitting smile, and kicked his feet off of the table to stand. "What was it?" He asked as he walked towards her. "The book? The sparkling personality? The roughish good lo-" 

"Okay, stop right there. I never said any of that-" 

"You didn't need to," Peter said softly, now inches away from her. In a moment of boldness he hoped he wouldn't live to regret, he reached out and tentatively laid his hand against her cheek. "I kind of, uh, figured that out."

"And h-how did you know that?" Gamora asked, trying and failing to sound like her usual, all-business self. "I never-" 

Before she could finish her thought, he closed the gap between them and kissed her. Shocked, Gamora reached for the table behind them to steady herself, leaning into it for support. Peter pulled back as he noticed her hands trembling against his neck. 

"Uh-um." Peter pulled back abruptly. "You seem startled. Did I overstep? Should I not have done that? Did nothing that you said mean what I thought it did, 'cause it's completely my fault if it didn't and I was-" 

"Peter." Gamora took in a shaky breath. "I was caught off-guard. I don't expect my authors to kiss me in meetings-" 

"Yeahh, that's probably a thing I should have taken into account," Peter said, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry about that." 

"But by no means was that  _unpleasant."_

"Oh, okay. Good." Peter's relief was palpable. "I'm, uh...glad you didn't find it...revolting." 

"To be completely honest, I wouldn't be too displeased if you were to do so again." Gamora set down her papers coyly (Peter had never imagined that such a thing could even  _be_ done coyly, but somehow Gamora could pull it off). "Would you-" 

Peter was only too happy to oblige. 

* * *

 

"Well, the die is cast," Gamora sighed, locking the office door. "Congratulations, Peter. You're officially published." 

Peter smiled despite the bags under his eyes. "No one I would rather have been published by." 

"No one I would rather have published," Gamora said, comfortably settling herself under his arm as they walked. Though their...whatever it was...was weeks old, she was still loath to admit how much she enjoyed the position. He was always far too warm. "I have to say, my scout knew exactly what she was talking about when she asked me to publish more sci-fi. Never thought I'd get a boyfriend out of it, though." 

"Boyfriend?" Gamora could have sworn that Peter's ears perked up at that. "Is that what I am?" 

"Well, I don't know any other word for what we...are," she said, uncommonly ineloquent. 

Peter took it in stride. "Well, then, I'm glad I was worth having to read that book about the guy who talks to moths." 

Gamora grimaced at the memory. "I like you, Quill, but  _nothing_ is worth having to sit through the moth book." 

"Yeah, that's fair. Wanna go get pizza?" 

"Pizza?" Gamora turned to look at him. "Well, you may be an actual twelve-year-old, but sometimes twelve-year-olds know more than we give them credit for. Pizza sounds perfect." 

"I know this place downtown that has the best pineapple pizza you'll ever taste." Peter's face changed abruptly. "Unless you're one of those poor, sad people who thinks pineapple doesn't belong on pizza?"

"How dare you accuse me of such treason?" Gamora asked in mock outrage, collapsing into laughter after only a few seconds. "It's the only way I'll eat pineapple. That sounds perfect." 

"A woman after my own heart," Peter told her, leaning to kiss the crown of her head. "You're gonna love this stuff. It's got so much cheese it'll make your brain cloud over-" 

"Is that a good thing?" 

"Oh, the best thing." Peter grinned wickedly. "Anyway, there's so much cheese, and it kinda turns golden and crispy - that's how you know the cheese is right - and the crust's got cheese in it too, this fancy stuff they call gruyere, and the pineapple sinks in and caramelizes and the ham is perfectly crispy and salty..." he trailed off, almost euphoric. "It's  _so good,_ man." 

"Well, I certainly trust your judgement in the area of food, although maybe I shouldn't, considering that you once ate a fake wax apple without flinching," Gamora sighed, checking her watch. "You sure this place still open? It's almost two." 

"The best places are always open all night," Peter replied with more confidence than he seemed to actually possess. "Of course it is."

"Well, then, that'll hit the spot after the day we've both had." 

"Absolutely." Peter nodded and trailed into silence before abruptly perking up. "Oh! Did I tell you about the TV studio that wants to buy the rights to my book?" 

"Wait." Gamora moved away from Peter to face him. "The TV studio that wants  _what?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that a cliffhanger? I feel like that's a cliffhanger-ish thing. It sets up 6 - "pull the rug out from under them," to paraphrase...yeah, our lovely editor is not going to be particularly happy with this development.


	6. Part 6: Sweep the Carpet Out From Under Their Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 6: "Just as things are going well (about an hour and a bit into the movie) have it all go pair shaped as: –
> 
> a) The bet (or other ulterior motive) is revealed  
> b) The arrangement ends  
> c) The guy actually does close the poor girl’s bookshop  
> d) The girl walks in on the guy at the wrong moment (or vice versa) and totally misunderstands what is going on (i.e. he’s kissing his step sister on the cheek or something).  
> e) The lead girl’s rich father (see part 1) stops them from seeing each other"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to finish up that cliffhanger!

"Isn't this the kind of thing you'd normally tell the person who owns the rights to your book first?" Gamora nearly shouted, shoving a bite of (admittedly delicious) pineapple pizza into her mouth. "This is about intellectual proper-"

"No, Gamora, it's about opportunity!" Peter countered, shoving pizza into his mouth with equal vitriol. "This is what I've wanted all my life. Recognition. Success. Having an audience who gets something out of my work. And now that I'm finally getting a chance to have that, you want me to turn it down because of intellectual property?"

Gamora took a steadying breath. "Okay, walk me through this. What exactly does this movie deal entail? How'd it happen so fast? Who-"

"Not a movie. It's for, like...a miniseries. Only a few episodes." Peter took a sip of orange soda. "So, remember that old lady I talked to at the book festival thing?"

"There were a lot," Gamora sighed, humoring him. "Remind me."

"The one I gave a book to," Peter elaborated. "Margaret. You remember her, right?"

"Ah, of course." Gamora reached for another slice of pizza. "What's she got to do with this?"

"Well, when I gave her that book, I thought I was just being nice to a cool old lad who liked sci-fi, but apparently she wasn't just any old lady. You ever heard of SHIELD?"

"Uh...like, what kind of shield? Do you mean-"

"No, no, the production company. SHIELD is a TV studio that mostly does sci-fi stuff. Super famous among geeks like me, but I'm not that surprised that you don't know what it is, since it's kinda obscure. Anyway, that lady Margaret wasn't who I thought she was-"

"Get to the point, please," Gamora said. "Please. I fail to see how any of this is relevant."

"Turns out Margaret-the-book-fan was Margaret Carter. She was the president of SHIELD productions for, like, decades, and she liked my book so much that she passed it on to the current president. He liked it too, and it's kind of ridiculous that this happened so quickly because it's a huge gamble to spend money on a thing no one has even heard of, but they wanted to buy production rights. So now I have an offer, and if I want, my random, obscure novel could be an actual TV show." Peter's eyes bugged out slightly. "An actual TV show. Nuts."

"It's an exciting offer, definitely, but I'd advise you to think long and hard about this before you commit to anything," Gamora said coolly. "And talk to me. I am, after all, your editor." 

"Oh, so now you're all business casual again?" Peter sighed, resting his chin against his grease-stained palm. "I thought we had a nice thing going. What's up with this?" 

"I think there are a lot of factors you haven't taken into account here, Peter," Gamora told him, sipping her iced tea as if nothing unusual was happening at all when in reality, her mind was racing. "And as to my demeanor, you forget that I am, first and foremost, your editor. My company, which - I didn't want to tell you this, but I have to - isn't doing well,  needs to capitalize on every release it can. Yours is shaping up to be one of the most popular books we've ever published. We need that, Peter." 

"Really? That whole deal was just you trying to make a profit off of me?" Peter's face fell and quickly shifted to a contemptuous sneer. "You called me your  _boyfriend!_ And all of that was an act? Because you needed me to save your label?" 

"No, Peter..." Gamora's voice began to crack. "I forgot my place. That's my fault. I'm your editor, and that's all I should have allowed myself to be. I'm realizing that now. You wrote a novel that was, dare I say,  _brilliant,_ but you need my help to make sure no one takes advantage of your inexperience in publishing." 

"I can handle myself!" Peter exploded. "This is the opportunity of a  _lifetime,_ Gamora. You may have published my book, but you don't own it-" 

"That's exactly the point. I actually do." 

"Well, you don't-you didn't-" Peter sputtered, unable to find the words he wanted. "Why would you ever want to hold me back like this? Going from starving artist to the guy making a TV show out of his movie with the company that produced all the shows he loved as a kid - not only is it improbable, it's _insane._  And...a _dream._ " 

"I'm not in the business of fulfilling dreams, Peter. I'm in the business of publishing books." Gamora bit back everything that might have crept in between the cracks in the mask of pure indifference she forced herself to wear. "Personally, I'd be thrilled for you. If I were anyone but who I am, I'd tell you to go for it in a second. But..." 

"How is my accepting this offer even going to interfere with your profits?" Peter protested. "It's not as if you won't get book royalties once the show comes out." 

"It's not exactly that," Gamora sighed. 

"But that was _literally_ the excuse you gave for why I couldn't do this," Peter reminded her. "What happened to 'you have no idea what you're getting into'?" 

"Well, you don't. That hasn't changed. But maybe it's also because your publisher is entitled to information like this." 

"Is she?" Peter asked acerbically. "Or is my _girlfriend_?"

"I already told you, Peter!" Gamora said, losing her cool. "I lost my composure. It wasn't my place to take a professional relationship to that extent. That was a mistake!"

"Oh, so I was a  _mistake_ now?" Peter couldn't keep the despair from his face. "What even  _happened?_ I tell you one thing you don't want to hear and it's like I flipped an off switch." 

"I didn't mean it like that-" 

"Sure you didn't," Peter spat. "That decides that, then." He got up, turned his back, and paused to call over his shoulder. "I'm going to go call SHIELD. If you really care as little as you say you do, I'm doing this whether you like it or not."


	7. Part 7: The Exit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Exit: "The ulterior motive, misunderstanding or whatever is so huge that the girl simply can’t stand to be in the same zip code as the guy any more and will decide to leave town immediately. Like that night.  
> Optional (but preferred): The guy shows up at her apartment and her best friend advises him that she has already left. It’s raining."
> 
> Time for some trope-subversion: it's going to be Peter who skips town here, not Gamora, because it makes more sense with The Plot (plot? What plot?). Otherwise, same good old exit-y fun.

"I'm heading out, Rocket," Peter called, swinging the door shut behind him before he could hear his roommate's reply. He'd packed light - all he'd brought was contained in an oversized duffle bag that, if he cared to look (which he didn't), he probably would have found mold in. It was fitting - paring down to the basics before he started over. Fitting and, for lack of space, necessary - he'd need every cent he had to cover living expenses in Los Angeles and checked baggage was a luxury he simply could not afford. So he lugged the bag containing half of his worldly possessions (the rest were mostly edible or linked to a gaming console he couldn't take with him, anyway) down the hall, regretting his decision to bring along his entire carefully-curated collection of sci-fi novels more with every step. 

He was regretting a _lot_ of things more with every step, actually, but he couldn't think about that. Not when he arrived at the airport six hours early for no apparent reason and couldn't tell himself why, not when he realized how expensive airport food was and needed something to distract him from his hunger, not when he fished a book from his duffle and tried to read but realized he'd never be able to focus on the story with everything he was leaving behind on his mind. But it proved so difficult to avoid every topic he'd barred from his mind that, sometime around six, Peter had no choice but to spend a few carefully-conserved dollars on snacks from the same newspaper gift shop that he'd seen in all three of the airports he'd ever been in. Food would distract him when nothing else-

"Pe _-tuuuur!"_ a familiar voice trilled, piercing through his weak attempt at concentration. _No...anything but this..._  "What brings you here on this fine evening?" 

"Uh." Peter could already feel a migraine coming on at the sound of that voice. "A flight, duh. What brings _you_ here?"

"I'm going to Portugal to see my sister," Ingmar announced, throwing out his arms to display a pineapple-patterned button-up. "You can tell because I'm wearing my  _vacation shirt."_

"You're Portugese?" Somehow Peter couldn't believe that. 

"Oh, no, she's not really my sister," Ingmar explained. "I just call her my sister because she's...a sister." 

"Is she the sister of someone you know?" Peter asked, too curious to let the matter drop even if it meant four more hours of Ingmar Applekvist's head-splitting voice. 

"Oh, no. She doesn't have a sister." 

"Uh..." Peter was at a loss. "The why is-" 

"Oh,  _right!_ I forgot to tell you that she's a nun." Ingmar looked entirely too proud of himself for whatever profound truth he thought he'd just imparted. 

"So you're...going to Portugal...just to see some random nun?" Peter wondered if he really  _was_ going crazy. It would explain his otherwise-inexplicable participation in this exchange. 

"Oh, no, I don't know her. I just saw an article about her online and-" 

"Ohhh, you're writing a book about her work? That makes sense," Peter said, completely abandoning any attempt he'd previously been making at retaining a normal human thought pattern. 

"No, I just want to meet her-oh. Also." He moved even more uncomfortably into Peter's personal space. "Did you know that your girlfriend is looking for you?" 

* * *

 

Gamora held her coat close around her against the wind and rain, abandoning her wind-battered umbrella in favor of sheer, blind willpower. She ran the last few meters to the rickety awning covering the entrance, letting out a slow breath when she finally stepped, soaking wet, into the lobby. Warm air assailed her, bringing both necessary warmth and the distinct realization of just how soaked her clothes were. Nevertheless, she kept moving, taking an elevator whose constant creaking did nothing to inspire confidence in its structural integrity up to the floor on which she'd been told she could find Peter. But when she arrived, the door was wide open. She knocked anyway, peering around the corner into the ill-lit apartment. 

"Come in," a voice - not Peter's - called from inside, its owner not even bothering to see who was at the door. "I'll be over in a minute." The sound of large objects falling to the floor reverberated through the apartment as its owner made his way through perilous piles of past messes they'd never bothered to clean up. 

"Um, is this Peter Quill's residence?" she asked, shocked at her own nervousness.  _When was the last time you said_ _"um"?_ She asked herself, rather disgusted. 

"Used to be." The other owner, a small, wiry man wearing jeans, a grease-stained shirt, and headphones that had probably cost him several months' rent appeared in the doorway. "He left town last night. Moved out to Los Angeles to supervise production for some TV show they're making out of his book, or at least that's the excuse he gave. Who are you, again?" 

"I'm Gamora, his...editor," she said, trying not to sound as rattled as she was. It was hard, standing on a stranger's doorstep in a soaked lavender trench coat, not to look and feel at least a little bit out of place. But she didn't mind as she might have before - she didn't have the will to.

"The girlfriend?" the roommate raised his eyebrows. "Huh. He was pretty torn up about...whatever happened to you two. I'm Rocket, by the way." 

"I know," Gamora sighed, all too eager not to relive the memory. "I came to, uh...make amends." 

"Well, there miiiight still be a chance..." Rocket started. "He left this morning, but he said his flight wasn't until ten. It's..." Rocket glanced at his watch. "eight forty-nine. You might still have time to make it to the airport before his flight leaves." 

Gamora's eyes widened (however much she wished they wouldn't). "What airline? What's his flight number? Do you know-" 

"I don't know details, but we can find out," Rocket told her. "The only problem is, I don't have a car, so-" 

"I took an Uber here. Maybe we could get one to the airport," Gamora suggested. 

"Won't get here in time." 

"Taxi?" 

"Same problem." 

"Oh, come  _on,"_ Gamora huffed. "What, are we going to have to take a hang glider?" 

"As much as it pains me to say this, I don't have one," Rocket sighed. "But...I do know a guy who could help us out." He pulled out his phone and dialed someone who apparently picked up immediately, made plans with said contact, and hung up minutes later. 

"What was that about?" Gamora asked.

"Well, uh...we're going to make it on time, but it looks like the only vehicle in the area is an after-hours school bus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be sad. Part of it was (I actually wrote Gamora's bit first, for some reason), but then I wrote the school bus part (which sets up Part 8 in ways I'll explain when I actually, y'know, write Part 8), and then I threw in Ingmar, and it all went downhill from there, but hey, at least I wasn't half-asleep when I wrote this!


	8. Part 8: The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chase: "After finding out where the girl has gone, the guy makes a mad dash to reach her, explain himself and profess his undying love before she catches her: –
> 
> a) flight  
> b) train  
> c) boat  
> This is an opportunity to reintroduce the comedy part of romcom and the zanier the mode of transport the guy can use to get to the girl the better. The guy’s best friend might have a big part to play here – for example he could be stoned and riding a golf cart or something like that.  
> Comedy and tension ensues."
> 
> Fun times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is much more fun if you listen to this on loop while you read: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hej-McdoYYw

"I never thought I'd set foot in one of these again," Gamora said aimlessly, taking a seat at the front of the empty bus. "And I really can't believe that I did." 

"It was this or lose the guy forever," Rocket replied, "so get in." 

"I didn't say I wouldn't. I  _did,_ in fact." 

"Eh, that you did. Hey, Drax?" Rocket called to the front of the bus. 

"Yes?" the driver, a beefy man with more tattoos than Gamora had ever seen in such a confined space, replied. 

"How long's it going to take?" Rocket gestured back at Gamora. "The lady's got a time limit." 

"I can speak for myself, Rocket-" 

Drax turned to peer at her. "Why would an event so unimportant as to make a school bus an appropriate mode of transportation have a deadline?" 

"Chasing a guy before he leaves forever," Rocket explained, earning him a hard look from Gamora. "His flight leaves at ten." 

"Ah, she must be reunited with a lost love!" Drax slapped the dashboard with a concerning amount of force. "I am honored to have been charged with such a responsibility. I will not fa-" 

"Drax." Rocket glared at him pointedly. "Running out of time. Drive the bus." 

Miraculously, Drax went silent, and the bus lurched sickeningly out of the lot. Gamora pressed her hands into her lap and sighed. She might well get there in time, but she didn't want to think about the traffic laws they'd have to violate and the strength of stomach she'd need to do it.

* * *

 

Peter emerged from the corner of the airport store in a cold sweat, scanning the room for any trace of pineapple-bedecked clothing. He let out a long sigh when he didn't see it and made his way back to his gate, hoping against hope that next flight to Lisbon would be boarding on the other side of the airport. He shuffled back into his gate and checked the time - 9:22. A few minutes to boarding. He slipped his headphones over his ears and spent his last few minutes tuning out the bickering families and screaming babies he'd be sharing a plane with for the last two hours. 

He let his music play and welcomed its distraction. As long as it kept _her_ from his mind, he'd welcome it. 

* * *

 

"Rocket, please turn that  _off,"_ Gamora pleaded. "Not the time."

"No chance," Rocket cackled, turning up the volume on the small speaker he'd inexplicably decided he needed to bring for no reason that she could discern. To Gamora's dismay, George Michael's voice continued to croon out of the speaker, and Rocket leaned back against the seat with a satisfied smirk. " _And I'm never gonna dance again!"_ Rocket sang, purposely off-key, watching Gamora's annoyance with satisfaction. 

"Drax!" Gamora called to the front of the bus. "How long do we have left?" 

"We will arrive in time for you to reunite with your lost love!" Drax replied, rather unhelpfully. "However, we are currently-" 

"Stuck behind a car that never learned how to change friggin’ lanes," Rocket finished. "Hence the pleasant distraction." 

"Pleasant. Right," Gamora huffed. "Um, should we be-" she braced herself against her seat - "swerving this much?" 

"Of course," Drax said, as if it was the most obvious truth in the world. "There is no one on the highway. We will not flatten any unsuspecting passersby." 

"Except that cop car," Rocket muttered. "Drax! Watch it!"

Drax laughed wildly. "A chase!" he crowed. "What a surprise. Now we must outrun the law enforcement vehicle!"

"Good  _lord,"_ Gamora mumbled. "Is he serious?" 

"Sadly, yes," Rocket sighed. "50% odds say we get arrested." 

"And the other 50%?" Gamora asked, not sure if she even wanted to know the answer. 

"We get to the airport in record time." 

"Really?" Gamora grabbed an overhead bar to stabilize herself as Drax swung hard into the next lane over. "Is there  _any_ chance we make it to the airport in one piece?" 

"Well, it's slim, but I wouldn't have brought you if I didn't have at least a tiny sliver of faith that Drax would be able to get you to the airport alive," Rocket shouted, now having to yell over a combination of sirens and the pounding bass of his latest musical selection. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Rocket, I really do. But your music taste is absolute  _trash."_

"Oh, no, this isn't mine," Rocket explained. "As I said, Quill and I share a car. I have to get rides from Drax a lot." He paused to glance at Drax, making sure that he wasn't paying attention - he wasn't. "His driving leaves...a bit to be desired, so I've had to learn how to motivate him if I ever want to get where I'm going. He likes this playlist." 

"Tattoo Guy likes  _Careless Whisper?"_ Gamora asked, slightly incredulous. 

"Oh, yeah. And this, too. I mean, look at him!" they both trained their eyes on the driver, who was distractedly bopping his head to the music as he swerved in and out of (mercifully, unoccupied) lanes to avoid the police car that was still tailing them. 

"I wouldn't call that motivation." 

"Look, do you want to get there on time or not?" 

* * *

 

 

"Now boarding all passengers in Group C," a TSA agent announced. "All passengers in groups A through C may now board the plane." 

Peter couldn't explain the urge he felt to let the family of (he'd counted) fourteen in front of him board before he did, but nevertheless, it existed, and he did. He turned at the sound of footsteps running madly in the direction of the gate, mildly curious - probably just a passenger running late, but that could be interesting. But at first he couldn't see the source of the sound. 

He could hear it, though. He could hear it  _quite_ distinctly. "Quill!" two familiar voices called at varying times. " _Wait!"_

 


	9. Part 9: The Grand Statement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 9: "After a mad, comedic dash across town, the lead guy manages to catch the lead girl just in the nick of time. Have him stand in the rain and make some grand statement about how: –
> 
> a) she has changed him  
> b) he can’t bear to be without her  
> c) he doesn’t want to sleep with his step sister  
> d) all of the above  
> If he’s a frustrated singer he might do this through the medium of song."
> 
> Except trope subversion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally an excuse for me to pack in all the rom-com melodrama that has been missing from some other chapters. Be warned.

"Quill,  _wait!"_

Peter turned and his breath caught in his throat. "I'm dreaming," he mumbled. "That's the only explanation for this. I'm dreaming." 

"No, Quill, you're not dreaming, you're just an  _idiot,"_ Rocket told him, stepping to the side. "Now let her say her bit before you get on that plane." 

For a moment, Gamora simply stood there as Peter stared, shell-shocked. Her purple coat hung limp, still damp from her trek in the rain; her hair was wet and disheveled, her cheeks flushed from exertion, and her expression rather pained - probably because of the distance she'd run in heeled leather boots. She didn't know what to say and she needed a moment for more than breath-catching. 

She was an elegant mess in impractical clothing, completely speechless, and the most beautiful thing Peter had ever seen.

"You wanna say something?" Rocket said, nudging her side. 

"Um..." Gamora stared at her shoes, completely short of words for the first time in her life. "You shouldn't leave." 

"Really?" Peter asked, incredulous enough to be snapped out of his awe. "You sure didn't seem like you thought that the last time we saw each other."

"Peter, I..." he voice began to crack. "I shouldn't have said that." 

"Well, it's a  _start,"_ Peter sighed, stepping out of line. "And you better make this quick. I'll miss my flight."

"I said those things to you because I didn't know how to react," Gamora said, brushing her damp hair out of her eyes. "My company was struggling, you told me something that I didn't think would bode well for our success, and I was caught off-guard. And I knew that I'd made a professional mistake in letting our relationship progress as far as it did. That was all I could think about - that I'd done something my company wouldn't approve of. I decided that I was done listening to my heart. So I said some things I never should have, and-" 

"Gamora," Peter breathed. "Enough." 

Gamora took a step away from him, taken aback. "I'm sorry. Did I..."

" _No."_ Peter contemplated taking a step towards her but held himself back. "When I said 'enough,' I meant...enough of this stiffness and formality and scripted speech stuff. If you want me to stay, you have to tell me to stay. Plain and simple." 

"I'm not good at that, Peter. You know that. All I know how to do is recite a script." 

"You can always  _learn,_ Gamora," Peter insisted. "You should know that. I didn't decide to skip town - which you still haven't convinced me not to do, I might add - because I had to supervise production. I left because I realized that the love of my life is incapable of breaking out of a mindset that tells her she can't ever love me back." 

"I never meant to make you think that!" Gamora cried, drawing the stares of nearly everyone who had yet to board the plane. "If that's what you think, you might as well get on that plane and never look back." 

"Yeah, you know, I might as well," Peter scoffed, turning. Rocket grabbed his arm. 

"Yeah, no. I didn't commandeer a school bus and risk death multiple times to get here before you left for you not to hear her out." Rocket cleared his throat. "She doesn't know how to say it, but she loves you. So _please_ stop being an idiot and listen to her."

Peter gawked. "You did  _what?"_

"Commandeered a school bus," Gamora piped up, stepping forwards. "Because it was worth it. Because no matter how hard it is for your stupid, brilliant mind to see it,  _I am in love with you,_ Peter Quill, and stepping on a plane won't erase that. On either of our ends." 

"You...you're..." 

Gamora shook her head resolutely and closed the gap between them and shoved her lips into his before either of them had a chance to think better of it. Peter nearly fell back in shock before realizing what was happening and eagerly reciprocating. 

He didn't know how they'd gotten from the last moment to the present one, but he was not  _ever_ going to complain about this.

Later, advising a screenwriter on the final episode of his TV series, Peter would describe a kiss like that as "one for the ages." It was the kind of kiss that his oft-melodramatic writer's mind would say froze time, made him lose all sense of spatial orientation, erased the events of the past week, shredded his plane ticket to Los Angeles into a thousand pieces. It was the kind of kiss that left no doubt in anyone's mind that it absolutely changed the course of all events to follow. It was the kind of kiss that irrevocably sealed the fate of the involved parties.

Maybe, when they broke apart, Peter's brain would get enough oxygen to realize that those descriptions were a tad overblown. Or maybe he wouldn't. Knowing him, he'd probably choose the latter; such was the way of an author. 

"How's that for 'unscripted'?" Gamora asked wryly after a moment of recovery.

"Well, consider me convinced," Peter said, too perfectly, gloriously shaken to say anything as profound as the descriptions running through his mind.

"Good." Relief washed over Gamora's face. "Because if that didn't work, I'm not sure that anything could have." 

"Last call for Boarding Group D," the TSA agent droned. "Last call for Boarding Group D." Both wholeheartedly ignored the voice.

"Um, I'm guessing you're going to ignore that," Rocket interjected, hiding (to his credit) the fond disgust he felt quite admirably. "Seeing as..." 

"Yeah, probably won't get a refund for that," Peter sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. Gamora leaned against his side as if her were a wall, smirking. "But I'm definitely not getting on that plane. 

"An excellent decision, Mr. Quill," Gamora said sweetly, leaning in for another kiss. 

All he knew was that in this moment, it seemed like the perfect thing to do. And he was never,  _ever_ getting on that plane. 


	10. Part 10: The Big Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Big Ending: "After the grand gesture, whichever plot contrivance caused the whole misunderstanding will be instantly forgotten and the lead guy and girl will come together for a long, lingering kiss. An uplifting ballad will play in the background as the two main character’s embrace, profess their undying love and the lead’s friends do something comedic.  
> Roll credits and prepare to cash in at the box office."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys! The end! For the few of you who've stuck with me through this whole thing (this whole...two-week-long thing), thank you. I hope this final chapter exceeds your expectations. 
> 
> I'm very uncreative. Hence, a chapter of Peter and Gamora watching the aforementioned TV show with more show dialogue than actual Starmora, oops...

The screen faded to commercial after the words  _Center of Gravity,_ in text designed to look as if it were cut from diamonds (Peter had been rather proud of that tie-in to the fact that the book's plot revolved around a jewel heist), leapt across the screen. Gamora looked absolutely indignant.

"They edited it out? _How could they_ _edit that line out?"_ she cried, mock-enraged. "It was the best line-"

"Oh, come  _on,"_ Peter sighed teasingly. "If it were really that good, I'd have made them leave it in." 

Gamora pouted. " _You_ told them to edit it out?" Peter didn't respond, simply lacing his arms more tightly around her waist. 

"And you said you didn't like sci-fi," he said after a pause. 

"I didn't, at the time," Gamora replied. "But, mmm...I've learned to appreciate it." She pursed her lips. "And the people who write it." 

Peter smiled. "Even moth guy?" 

Gamora groaned. " _Anyone_ but moth guy. But...I have to admit that some of the other manuscripts I rejected are growing on me." 

"Hm. Like I did?" Peter asked, gesturing with the remote towards the TV. "Now  _this...this_ is the best line." Both went quiet as the camera panned to the onscreen iterations of Dustin and Venetia, who were standing on a balcony watching some sort of space sunrise (in truth, Peter didn't know if such a thing were possible, but the aesthetic was appealing). 

_"Venetia, you know we can't finish this job without you," Dustin said, reaching out to take Venetia's hand. She pulled back._

_"I can't go back there," Venetia replied, staring off into space with and leaning on her elbows against the railing. "I've seen too much here. Don't make me make me relive those memories."_

_"Isn't there any way that pulling this off would erase those memories?"_

_"Dustin, you idiot!" Venetia yelled. "It just doesn't_  work  _like that!_ _And don't even get me started on your deception. You know I wouldn't have agreed to this if I'd known I'd have to go back to the planet where I watched -_  helped - my _father burn entire villages to the ground-"_

_"Venetia, we all have skeletons in the closet. Yours are no worse than any of ours. This...think about it. Your father was acting on behalf of the government of Andaluz, right? And what does the Andalao economy depend on?"_

_"Jewels," Venetia sighed reluctantly. "But that changes nothing."_

_"We pull off this heist, we totally derail their economy. Think about it. Half the planet's wealth is in those vaults. You have a chance to avenge all those deaths. So come with us," Dustin begged._

_"I don't know if I believe that anything I do now can change what I was complicit in then," Venetia said, pacing across the balcony. She stopped in front of Dustin, her hands clasped. She couldn't look at him._

_"Okay. I give in." Dustin lifted his hands in surrender. "Maybe you don't need to do this. Maybe you think you can't redeem yourself. But just by agreeing to come with us, you already have," Dustin said, lifting her chin. "Maybe I've forced your hand. But I want you to know that...no matter what, you're always going to be a part of this team."_

_"Cliche much?" Venetia smiled at her feet. "You certainly do give a...pedestrian...pep talk."_

_"Pedestrian?" Dustin asked, mock-wounded. "That was inspirational, Venetia. You gotta admit that."_

"Which of those lines was supposedly the 'best'?" Gamora asked, leaning against Peter's chest. "Fine scene, sure, but nothing in it was better than 'you've always been the gravity holding me down when the circumstances demand a steady center'?" 

"The fact that you have that entire line memorized makes me happier than you realize," Peter replied, kissing the top of her head. "But keep watching. Still my favorite scene, and the best line's coming up." 

 _"Inspirational? Hm." Venetia's expression turned coy, and she began to pace, hands on her hips. "I wouldn't call_ that  _inspiration."_

 _"Oh? Then what_ would _you_?"  _Dustin asked, leaning against the railing to look at her before shrugging himself upwards to approach her. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and her eyes widened. "I think I have some ideas-"_

_Venetia was on him in a flash, but decidedly not in the way that he'd imagined when he'd let that ill-advised comment slip past his lips. "Do you take my moment of vulnerability as an excuse to believe that you...that you...can have your way with me?" she shrieked, holding him at knifepoint. "I meant nothing more than was necessary for the purposes of maintaining a business relationship!"_

Peter grinned, pausing the episode. "That was it.  _That_ was the best line." 

A week ago, Gamora would've been indignant at that. Today, though, she simply raised her eyebrows. "That seems a bit uncalled-for,  _Dustin,"_ she teased. 

"Oh, please,  _Venetia,"_ Peter shot back, playfully pecking her lips. "You had that one coming." 

"Perhaps," Gamora sighed, leaning back against him. He pressed play again. 

_"Business relationship?"_ _Dustin cried incredlulously. "Business relationship?!?"_

_"Business relationship," Venetia replied matter-of-factly, sheathing her sword. "I'll do it. But not for you."_

The screen cut back to the title card and Gamora sat up, shrugging herself out of Peter's grip to lean against the armrest of the couch. He looked rather offended but relented. "What?" he asked. 

"Oh, nothing," Gamora sighed coyly, leaning on her palm in such a way as to make Peter's heart feel rather convulsive. "Just amused that your final round of edits saw you deciding to write me into it." 

"Don't flatter yourself," Peter said, moving in closer. "She existed in my mind long before you did." 

"Ah, but which one of us was first in your heart?" Gamora asked, turning to face him. 

"Oh, easy. You." Peter laced his arm around her shoulder. "If anything, I'm just surprised how quickly you became my muse."

"You old romantic," Gamora muttered, half-swooning and half-annoyed. 

"Oh, whatever. You know exactly what I mean." He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "You've always been my gravity." 

She leaned in to kiss him, and it was one for the ages. 

**Author's Note:**

> In this house, we love and support Ingmar Applekvist.


End file.
